


Cursed or Knot

by rabidbinbadger



Series: Ice Ice Baby [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidbinbadger/pseuds/rabidbinbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I haven't even been drinking this time, this is just what happens when you give me caffeine and panic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursed or Knot

 

Sam is having a good day. Dean and Cas are out of the bunker on some case, he’s had a run, he’s eaten a salad without anyone bitching at him about it, and he’s even had a chance to break out his ever so secret blender and make some delicious, nutritious smoothies.

He’s expecting something terrible to happen any moment. He’s literally counting it down in his head. 5, 4, 3, 2—

Cue squeal of burning rubber and crunching gravel.

He takes a deep breath, throws open the door to the bunker and dodges to the side, out of the way of a frantic looking Dean carrying something cradled in his arms.

He takes a quick look outside to see if there are any horrible, ravening somethings chasing him, and also to see if Cas is there. Nada on both counts. Sam shuts the door, hopes that thing in Dean’s arms isn’t one of Cas’s now entirely extraneous, sundered body parts. It was too small to be an actual corpse, but it could be like, a head or something.

He fucking hopes it’s not a head.

 

*

 

It’s not a head.

“You’ve got a woolly doll.” Sam observes, feeling like he is definitely maybe missing a piece of the puzzle here.

“It’s Cas!” Dean says, frantically. And yeah, Sam can see it. Knitted trenchcoat and blue eyes and dark hair. It kinda looks Casish.

“Yeah, okay. It’s a doll of Cas.” Sam shrugs, trying to work out where this is going. Has Cas started a cult? Are his followers knitting icons of him to worship?

“No! It’s _CAS!_ ” Dean repeats, like if he just says the same words with enough conviction that will magically grant them new meaning.

“Dude, I know, I can see.”

Dean fixes Sam in a baleful stare that says people might think you’re the brainy Winchester but jesus wept they were wrong clearly it’s me, I demand my chance to run off and start a life and get a college degree I’m going to do it in astrophysics or brain surgery or something just to show you up, like yeah, this is my idiot little brother the lawyer, I know, isn’t it cute. He thinks he’s clever.

“It’s _CAS._ He’s been cursed.”

Sam bursts out laughing. And very quickly tries to stop. Dean’s expression has flipped from you are an idiot, to you are about to be a dead idiot.

“What – what happened?” Sam stutters out, trying to hold it in. Because yeah, he knows this is apparently a serious situation, but try telling that to anyone who has ever tried to stop laughing ever. Laugher likes that. It feeds off that and grows bigger and OKAY SAM FOCUS.

“It was just any old hunt, y’know. People going missing, all centred around this craft shop. So we decide to split up, Cas goes to the craft place, I go talk to people in all the other shops. Only, I finish all that, hours down the line, come out, and still no sign of Cas. I called him, I texted him. Nada.

Eventually I decide to cycle back to the shop, see if he’s still there, and that’s when I found this.

Dean gingerly unwraps a bigass fucking knitting needle thing. It looks about 400 years old, and Sam imagines it’s pretty valuable.

“Did you steal that?” Sam blurts out, accepts Dean’s rolled eyes as a yes.

“Look at the inscription.”

Sam does.

“Huh.” He reaches out to touch it, but Dean bats his hand away.

“That thing turned Cas into a doll and you wanna grab it?!”

“Are you sure?”

“Cas is missing, there’s a bigass scary needle with “whosoever touches this without my will shall suffer the consequences” inscribed on it in Latin, and I found this doll that looks suspiciously like him, directly on top of it.”

Sam nods slowly, he can kinda see Dean’s point, it’s just a little, yeah.

“Okay, so, um, what do we do?”

“We get Cas back to normal and then we go hunting these bastards. If they’re turning people into dolls it can’t be for something good.”

“Okay, I’ll hit the books, see if I can work up a cure, but, um. In the meantime, what do we do with Cas?”

“I’m not letting him out of my sight. We dunno if the transformation is the limit of this thing’s effect. Could be he keeps shrinking, or turns into something else.”

“Um. Yeah, sure.”

 

*

 

Dean has had his face buried in old, useless books all day. He’s tired and randy and in need of some stress relief.

He can’t though, because Cas is _right there,_ sitting on his bedside table, staring at him with wide, woollen eyes.

And he can’t leave him alone, in case something happens, but, he really, really fucking needs to clean out the pipes. He can’t think, he can’t focus. He’s read the same paragraph about sixteen times. It’s not even his fault. The book he was reading before this one had an entire chapter dedicated to consensual sex curses. With fucking picture diagrams. What non-asexual human being could resist something like that?

Fuck.

He reaches over, turns Cas around so he’s facing the wall, puts his record player on loud enough to drown everything out, but not loud enough to wake Sam.

He’s a bad fucking person and he is going to hell. Again.

 

*

 

Dean kicks the bowl of herbs over in disgust. It’s the third spell they’ve tried in as many days, and nothing. Cas just sits there, blank, woolly stare.

“Hang in there, buddy.” Dean says, tired. They’ve still got options, but with every spell they try it gets less likely that they’re gonna be able to do this. There are two more likely’s and then it’s time to go bang down the door of that craft store and hope to god whoever owned this stupid needle is gonna be able to tell them how to reverse it. At gunpoint if necessary.

“Shit!” Sam’s yelp pulls Dean back to the present and he zones back in, just in time to smell burning wool.

Cas’s coat is on fire, and it’s spreading fast. Sam acts quickly, pulling it off, but it’s already spread to his suit trousers too.

Sam tries to pull them off as well, but they’re held on by a stitch, and when he pulls it away, other stuff rips.

“Well, uh, at least he’s not on fire anymore.” Sam hedges, awkwardly, as they look at the tiny woollen cock and balls on show, the torn stitches just above them. He’d wager there’s an identical rip on the other side, but, yeah. He’s not going to investigate if he can help it.

For a moment neither of them can do anything, frozen by the absurdity of it all, and then Dean says.

“If we turn him back now, his guts are gonna come falling out that rip.”

“Could angel healing fix that?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t bet his life on it, though.”

“So what, uh, what should we do?” Sam uses a kind of horrified tone that suggests he knows the answer.

“I think, uh. I think I’m gonna have to repair him.”

Sam nearly chokes up a lung with relief at the use of the singular there. He’s done his share of weird. He is not going there.

“Are you um, any good at, y’know.”

Dean grabs a tissue from the table, wraps it around Cas’s naked form like a little toga – covers his modesty.

“I, uh. I guess we’re about to see.”

 

*

 

Dean is sitting at the table, psyching himself up. Deep breaths, come on Dean, you can do this. In one, shaking hand he holds a needle, in the other, Cas.

“I am so sorry for this, Cas.”

“Sorry for what?” Cas asks, from behind him.

Dean whips around, takes in the dishevelled angel behind him. His hair is sticking up in every direction, he’s covered in love bites and scratches, and he reeks of booze and sex.

“What the fuck?”

“Have you ever had an orgy? I can definitely recommend it.”

“Orgy who the what now?” Dean asks, caught somewhere between hideously embarrassed and very angry and not quite able to form proper sentences while he decides which way he’s going to launch himself.

“In the basement of that craft store. I did text you, I think. Things got a bit hazy.” He shrugs, rolls his shoulders. “Anyway, it wasn’t a hunt, just a party that got out of hand. I was surprised you didn’t join us, actually.”

Dean is dumbstruck. Thoroughly dumbstruck. His dumb is reeling, punch drunk and about to collapse.

Cas plucks the doll out of his hands, smile widening.

“You found my doll! Mike made it for me, said he had to immortalise my form in wool – humans are so strange. He was very talented, though.”

The way Cas says talented suggests he isn’t talking just about knitting.

Dean sticks his fingers in his ears and runs out of the room. He needs the entirety of a bottle of absinthe and he needs it about twenty minutes ago.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally forgot about Coldest Hits this month so this was written in an hour with no editing apart from spellcheck. #awks. 
> 
> http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/


End file.
